Black fine line outline of a lion cub with the script words Remember who you are beneath it, tattooed on the inner wrist and forearm.

Lion cub outline and script quote on a wrist

Fine line · Forearm · Black and grey · Photo

A black outline of a lion cub in a crouching pose sits on the inner wrist and forearm, with the script words Remember who you are written beneath it. The linework is single-weight and unshaded, with the cub's mane and tail drawn as open curves. The design is in black ink only, set against plain pale skin with a dark background behind the arm.

Fine line Lettering Forearm Lion cub Lion Quote Script Outline

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The cub would not come out of the stone until Ada stopped trying to make it roar. For a fortnight she had chipped at the block in her grandfather's yard in Halifax, cutting grand gestures of mane and teeth, and every evening the rock looked back at her like a sulking dog. Grandad Walter came out with his tea, studied the mess for so long she thought he had gone deaf, and then said nothing at all.

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When he finally spoke, it was to ask for a pencil. 'Draw it first,' he said, tucking the stub behind his ear again. 'One line, and don't lift the nib. A cub isn't a lion yet. It's folded up, ready to spring, with its tail asking a question.' She drew the crouch in one unbroken run: the round head, the paw tucked under, the tail curling up and over like a hook. It looked nothing like her plans, and it was the first thing all month that looked alive.

Mrs Ferrier came in March, a widow with a cracked gatepost and an old order for a lion. She wanted a grown beast, roaring, to match the one her husband used to describe at the pub. Ada showed her the cub instead. Mrs Ferrier said nothing for a while, then took the drawing, turned it over, and wrote three words on the back in careful capitals.

On the Saturday Ada wheeled the finished stone up the lane on a handcart. Mrs Ferrier ran her thumb along the tail, slowly, the way you'd check a seam for a dropped stitch. Then she read the words cut beneath the crouch, once aloud for the cub and once, very quietly, for herself.